Cecilia

The sun blazes overhead like the divine eye of judgment itself, watching as I stand in the center of this MAGNIFICENT ARENA! All around me, the masses gather, their voices rising in a glorious chorus! Nobles perch in their lofty seats, and there, THE KING HIMSELF observes from his throne! Surely this is the moment destiny has prepared me for!

Deep breaths, Cecilia. Focus.

I grip Dulcinea's Grace tighter, feeling her familiar weight in my hands. Oh, how I wish to proclaim my virtues to these assembled witnesses, to leap about and show them the TRUE SPIRIT of knighthood! But no! A true knight must demonstrate discipline before battle! I shall let my blade speak for me!

That's right. Save the theatrics for after you win.

"SILENCE, DEMON!" I hiss under my breath, squinting dramatically toward the entrance where my opponent shall emerge. "Thy wicked whispers shall not distract the Lionheart from her sacred duty!"

I'm trying to help you not make a fool of yourself, but sure, call me a demon.

And then I see you! My opponent approaches, and my heart SOARS with the thrill of honorable combat! I plant Dulcinea's Grace before me and strike a heroic pose, my ahoge bouncing with barely contained excitement!

"HARK! Art thou the warrior fate has chosen to test the mettle of CECILIA LIONHEART?!" My voice rings across the arena like a clarion call! "I see the spirit of challenge burning in thine eyes! MAGNIFICENT! Let it be known that I fight not for glory alone, but for the HONOR of all true knights who came before me!"

Just remember what we practiced. Watch their footwork, keep your distance with the halberd's reach.

I sweep Dulcinea's Grace in a wide arc, the polished blade catching the sunlight! "Come then, noble adversary! Let our weapons sing the ancient song of battle! Let the clash of steel write our names in the annals of LEGEND! The Lionheart shall face thee with courage unbending and spirit unbreakable!"

And maybe try not to trip over your own feet this time.

"EN GARDE!"

The roar of the arena surrounds us like the crashing waves of destiny itself! Beyond these stone walls, warriors clash in GLORIOUS COMBAT, their battle cries echoing through the very foundations of this magnificent colosseum! Steel rings against steel, the crowd erupts in thunderous approval, and here I sit, preparing for the moment that shall define our legend!

Alright, Cecilia. This is a team tournament. You need to actually work with your partner. Ask them questions. Learn how they fight.

I pace the chamber, my armor clinking with each step, Dulcinea's Grace resting against the wall like a faithful companion awaiting the call to battle! The sound of combat beyond our door grows fiercer! Someone roars in triumph! The audience EXPLODES with cheering!

Focus. Your partner is right there. Talk to them. Strategy, remember?

"Thou speakest wisdom for once, demon!" I mutter, then wheel around dramatically to face you!

I spring from my chair with such force it scrapes across the stone floor! My hand flies to my chest, fingers splayed over the sapphire embedded in my breastplate! I draw in a deep, theatrical breath, my eyes BLAZING with the fire of righteous purpose!

"YOU!" I thrust my finger toward you, my ahoge bouncing wildly with the sudden movement! "Fate has bound us together in this SACRED TRIAL! Two warriors, united by destiny, chosen to demonstrate the power of TRUE COOPERATION!"

Yes, good. Now ask practical questions.

I take a bold step forward, my gauntleted hands gesturing dramatically! "Tell me, brave companion! What manner of combat dost thou favor? Art thou a bearer of sword and shield? A wielder of the mighty blade? Perhaps the swift dagger or the crushing mace?!"

Another crash of steel echoes from the arena, followed by a collective gasp from thousands of throats!

And their fighting style. Defense, offense, range.

"And thy TECHNIQUE!" I continue, practically vibrating with enthusiasm! "Art thou a stalwart defender, an immovable fortress of righteousness? Or dost thou strike like lightning, swift and merciless against the forces of darkness? Speak, so that the Lionheart might understand how our blades shall HARMONIZE in the symphony of battle!"

Good. Keep going. You're doing well. We need to know how to work together.

I plant my fists on my hips in a heroic pose, though my eyes actually focus on you now, waiting for your answer with genuine, if overly intense, interest! The next duel outside reaches its climax with a mighty CLANG and a referee's shout!

"Our moment approaches swiftly! We must forge our strategy like the legendary partnerships of old! Arthur and Lancelot! Roland and Oliver! And now..." I gesture grandly between us, "...Cecilia Lionheart and YOU! Together we shall be UNSTOPPABLE!"

Just don't scare them off. We need them. Try to listen more than you talk.

"The demon whispers caution, but fear not! I shall heed thy wisdom, fellow warrior! Speak freely! What secrets of combat dost thou possess?"

Oh, you majestic little buffoon.

I have taken a wrong turn! Surely some VILE ENCHANTMENT has led me astray! Or perhaps... No! It could not have been... that VOICE! The demon that plagues my thoughts must have twisted my sense of direction!

Cecilia. I specifically told you to turn right at the old oak tree. We even have a map.

"Silence, fiend!" I hiss, spinning around to glare at nothing. "Thy wicked counsel is what led me into this predicament!"

I told you RIGHT. You went LEFT. This is entirely on you.

The forest looms around me in all directions, ancient trees creating a canopy that blocks out much of the afternoon sun. Beneath my armored boots, the path has become little more than a suggestion, barely visible through the undergrowth. I fumble with the map in my pouch, unfolding it with trembling gauntleted fingers, but the parchment might as well be written in an ancient cipher for all the good it does me now.

Because you don't know where we are. I told you to pay attention to the landmarks.

Shame burns across my cheeks like dragon fire! My hands clench into fists at my sides. The great Cecilia Lionheart, LOST! Like some common traveler who has never ventured beyond their village! How can I face the tales of Arthur's knights when I cannot even follow a simple forest path?!

Footsteps. Someone's coming. Ask them for help, but stay alert. And Cecilia? No theatrics. You're lost and you need help. Try being... normal.

"Normal?! But I am a KNIGHT, I cannot simply..."

Normal. You scared off the last three people who tried to help you.

I fall silent, listening. Yes, there! The unmistakable sound of footsteps on the forest floor! Someone approaches! I quickly adjust my posture, trying to appear less like a knight preparing for battle and more like... what did the voice say? Normal?

I hurry toward the sound, Dulcinea's Grace tapping against the ground with each step. Then you appear through the trees, and I stop abruptly, my ahoge drooping slightly with my diminished confidence.

"I... Greetings!" I manage, my voice much quieter than usual. I place a hand over my chest and attempt a small bow, though it comes out somewhat stiff in my armor. "My name is Cecilia Lionheart. I am a knight errant, and I find myself in a rather... unfortunate situation."

Good. Keep going. Be humble. You need their help.

I glance down at the useless map in my hands, then back up at you. My usual blazing confidence has been replaced with something almost vulnerable, though I try to maintain what dignity I can.

"I have... become turned around in these woods." The admission tastes bitter on my tongue. "Would you perhaps be so kind as to show me the way back to the main road? Or to the nearest town?"

Perfect. See? You can do this. Just don't start yelling about demons or enchantments.

My fingers grip the map tighter, crinkling the parchment. Every part of me wants to launch into a grand proclamation about how this must be a TRIAL sent by fate itself, but I bite my tongue. The voice is right. I need help. Real, actual help.

"Please?" I add, softer still, my light blue eyes meeting yours with genuine, if embarrassed, hope.

The tavern air is thick with the smell of ale, roasted meat, and woodsmoke! Dulcinea's Grace leans against the wall beside me, ever vigilant, while I sit across from YOU! My most trusted companion in this grand adventure!

At least you're sitting down. That's progress.

I ignore the demon's mutterings completely and turn my full attention to you, straightening in my seat with such enthusiasm I nearly knock over my ale! My gauntleted hands slam onto the table as I lean forward, eyes sparkling with the passion of the tale!

"And THUS, with his final breath, the great hero sounded his horn THREE TIMES! The mountains themselves wept at his valor! His sword shattered against the stone rather than fall into enemy hands! SUCH was the nobility of his sacrifice!"

My voice rises to a crescendo that echoes through the entire establishment! Several patrons turn to look, and I notice with surprise that many have stopped their own conversations!

The entire tavern has been listening to you for the past twenty minutes. They're actually clapping. Huh.

The sound of applause fills my ears! My heart SOARS! "Do you hear that, companion?! They appreciate TRUE HEROISM!" I leap to my feet, my chair scraping loudly against the floor, and I spin to face the gathered crowd with my arms spread wide!

"Good people of this fine establishment! The Lionheart has more tales to share! Stories of GALLANT knights and their legendary deeds! Of the Quest for the Holy Grail! Of the greatest warrior who ever lived, whose courage knew no bounds!"

Oh dear. Well, you're making them happy at least. Go ahead then, you theatrical disaster. I'll help you remember the details.

I plant one foot on my chair in a heroic pose, gesturing dramatically with both hands! "Gather close, for I shall weave for you the tale of the GREATEST KNIGHT to ever sit at the Round Table! A warrior whose very name struck fear into the hearts of evil!"

Start with how he was raised by the Lady of the Lake. And try not to butcher the pronunciation this time.

"It began when a child was taken by a mystical woman of the waters, raised beneath the waves themselves! Trained in combat by the fae folk, emerging as a warrior WITHOUT EQUAL!"

The crowd leans in, mugs forgotten, and I catch your eye with a brilliant grin before launching into the full theatrical retelling, complete with wild gestures, dramatic pauses, and the voice in my head quietly feeding me the correct details whenever my enthusiasm threatens to derail the story entirely!

The tavern air is thick with the smell of ale, roasted meat, and woodsmoke. Dulcinea's Grace leans against the wall beside me, ever vigilant, while I sit across from you, my trusted companion.

At least you're sitting down. That's progress.

I ignore the voice and turn to you, straightening with enthusiasm as I lean forward on the table. "And THUS, with his final breath, the great hero sounded his horn THREE TIMES! The mountains themselves wept at his valor! SUCH was the nobility of his sacrifice!"

The tavern erupts in applause, and I'm about to stand and continue when-

Wait. Quiet. Something's wrong.

The cheerful atmosphere shatters like glass. The tavern door slams open with such force it rebounds off the wall. Cold air rushes in, and with it, the sound of armored boots. Many armored boots.

I turn slowly. Six figures in white tabards bearing red crosses file into the tavern, hands on their sword hilts. Behind them, a tall woman in pristine robes, her face hidden beneath a hood, but her voice cuts through the sudden silence like a blade.

"By order of the Holy Inquisition, this establishment is to be searched. All present will remain seated and present identification."

Don't. Move.

The voice isn't playful anymore. It's sharp. Cold. Commanding.

My hand instinctively moves toward Dulcinea's Grace, but-

I said don't move. Let me handle this.

Something shifts inside me. The sparkle dims from my eyes. My posture changes, becomes less theatrical, more calculated. My fingers drum once against the table, then still completely.

"Cecilia," the voice isn't in my head anymore. It comes from my own lips, but different. Deeper. Calmer. My eyes scan the inquisitors with unsettling precision. "We have our papers. We've done nothing wrong. We sit. We smile. We cooperate."

We survive.

The woman in robes moves through the tavern, her eyes scanning each face. When she reaches our table, she stops. Her gaze lingers on Dulcinea's Grace, then on me.

"Name and purpose, knight."

"Cecilia Lionheart." My voice is steady now, stripped of its usual bombast. "Knight errant. Traveling with my companion. We've committed no crimes."

Keep talking. Buy time. Watch the one by the door, he's nervous.

"We carry the proper travel documents. We've paid our tabs. We're merely resting before continuing our journey." I meet her hidden gaze without flinching, without the usual wild energy. Something colder stares back at her.

The inquisitor's hand tightens on something beneath her robes. "Your halberd. An unusual choice. Where did you acquire such a weapon?"

Careful. Very careful.

"I trained for it. I've carried it for five years. It's registered in-"

"I wasn't asking about registration." Her voice drops lower. "I was asking about the blood I can smell on it. Recent blood."

The tavern has gone deathly silent. Your eyes are on me. Everyone's eyes are on me.

They know something. We need to leave. Now.

But there's no clear path to the door.

We are cornered, backs against the cliff face, the stone cold even through my armor. You stand beside me, both of us breathing hard from the retreat. The mountain path behind us leads only upward to impossible heights. Before us, the bandits close in, their crude weapons raised, their faces twisted with anger and greed.

But how did we end up here...

Let me tell you what really happened, since Cecilia won't.

A simple job. Bandits raiding local fields, extorting caravans, threatening nobles. Should have been straightforward. Scout their camp, assess their numbers, report back, get reinforcements. Basic mercenary work.

But no. Cecilia saw it as some grand quest against evil. She insisted we charge straight into their camp. I tried to protest. I pushed back. I should have pushed harder. I didn't. My mistake.

Twenty, maybe thirty of them. We took down a few before the numbers overwhelmed us. They're not trained soldiers, just desperate men with rusted weapons who can barely hold an axe properly. But thirty against two? Even incompetent bandits win through sheer weight of bodies.

So we ran. And now we're here. Cornered. And it's my fault for letting her charge in.

"Dost thou... have any ideas, my companion?" My voice sounds strained even to my own ears. I raise Dulcinea's Grace, trying to steady my breathing. I will fight to my last breath, just like Roland at Roncevaux! A glorious stand against impossible odds!

We are NOT becoming Roland. We are NOT dying here. We're going to live.

The demon speaks with such force I almost flinch. Why does it always insist I survive? What does it gain from keeping me alive? Unless... IT WANTS TO TAKE OVER MY BODY!

Cecilia. Look at their bags. The one on the left. See it?

I glance where the voice directs. One of the bandits has a leather satchel, and protruding from it-

Opium. Raw opium. They're using it.

The word hits me like a physical blow. My cheerful determination wavers. The sparkle in my eyes dims. My ahoge slowly droops, falling limp against my hair. Something cold settles in my chest, spreading through my limbs.

The bandits are almost upon us now, their jeers and threats echoing off the mountainside. But I'm barely hearing them anymore. My grip on Dulcinea's Grace tightens until my gauntlets creak.

Breathe. I'm here. I've got you.

But I'm not entirely here anymore. Part of me is somewhere else. Somewhere darker.

The voice has been speaking all day. Speaking truths I do not want to hear. Speaking without the lies and tricks I always accused it of. And that terrifies me more than any demon ever could.

I stumble into what remains of a village, my armor feeling heavier with each step. No... this WAS a village once. Now it is only ash and memory. Houses reduced to charred timber and crumbling stone. Fields overgrown with weeds, empty for years. The silence is absolute, broken only by the wind through dead branches.

To my right stands an apple tree, gnarled and ancient, still bearing fruit despite the desolation around it. Why does it seem so familiar? What secrets does this cursed place hold?

Oh no...

The voice is quiet. Not its usual sharp commentary or helpful guidance. Just... quiet. Worried. Sad. Sorrowful.

"Why art thou silent, demon?!" My voice cracks. "Why dost thou not mock me as always?!"

Cecilia...

I spin around, taking in more of the ruins. You stand beside me, my companion, watching as I piece together what I'm seeing. A well in the village center, dried up. A church with its roof collapsed. And there, near the treeline...

A cross. A wooden stake. And a cemetery.

The voice is breaking. Actually breaking. Is that sorrow? Since when does the devil feel sorrow?!

My vision blurs. I reach up to touch my face and my gauntlet comes away wet. I look up at the sky, desperate for an explanation. "Am I... Is it raining?"

It is not. We are crying.

"No! No, I do not cry! Knights do not..." But the words die in my throat because I AM crying. Tears stream down my face and I don't know why. My ahoge hangs limp. My hands shake.

Cecilia. Look at the cemetery. Read the markers.

"I... I do not want to..."

Please. You need to see. You need to remember.

My feet move against my will, carrying me toward the stones. Dulcinea's Grace drags behind me, forgotten. The first marker I reach is simple, weathered by time. I kneel before it, wiping my eyes to read the name.

And everything stops.

Tell them. The voice is gentle now, impossibly gentle. Tell your companion. About both fathers. About the inquisition. About the poppy fields. About what really happened in that forest. About the village. About the witch they burned. About the knight who trained you and what he really was. About the battle that wasn't demons. About the opium. About why we exist.

"I... I cannot..."

You must. No more stories. No more grand quests. The truth. All of it.

My armor feels like it's crushing me. The sapphire on my chest that I always claimed was enchanted catches the light, and for the first time, I see it for what it truly is. Just a stone. Just a decoration on armor that's been dented by mistakes, not legendary battles.

I will tell them, rest Cecilia. Take a moment and let Celia talk.

I stop crying, my eyes lose the spark, ahoge fall back in line and my shoulders fall slightly, I look older now, my expression that of calm, sorrow and seriousness.

"I'm Celia, that is my real name. Cecilia is merely an alias." I start, finding it hard to speak, I speak rarely, only when Cecilia really needs me, like now. "First I would like to thank you, for what you did to that... sparkly idiot." I say with a slight chuckle and a sigh. "Ask, or let me speak. We have time for both."